


Growth Demeanor and Denominator

by mywillisgood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, POV Sam Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester, Will be added as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywillisgood/pseuds/mywillisgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it's not the practical, but the theoretical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thud

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and probably shitty. Call it training or something.

Dean is doing it again. Sam knows by the hitching of his breath that his big brother is got a hand on his cock. He does not have to open his eyes in order to catch the movement - the room itself is tremendously dark - since Dean barely has the care of controlling the sounds of his bed. Creaking,  _ moaning _ under the weight. 

Or is it Dean doing the moaning?

Sam finds it too much of a danger, too much of a hassle, to even consider the implications of it, when it's just so clear his brother isn't trying to hide the action. It's an ordeal, he's sure. Karma, or something similar. Undergoing the heat of puberty, he knows exactly what it feels like, needing the privacy which is so unknown to the Winchester’s, and being stuck trying to take advantage of the circumstances.

So he's going through that, but first had been Dean, when Sam was too young to realize what it was. And that must be clearly stressed, he thinks. His brother's  _ already been  _ through puberty. Dean’s had his fair share of hormonal disruption and now, hung and pretty, his eventual upheavals can be released in the dates he goes to, in the stolen minutes and spare hours, whenever a pretty girl will bend over and offer her cleavage as an invitation, or swiftly slip a number inside the band of his trousers. Dean’s got so much chance it isn't fair. 

No. It just isn't. Not fair for his brother to still masturbate, and also so loudly, with the same dick he's been using to shove inside half the young population of this town - and a couple of older ones, too.

But Sam doesn't want to think about it. He's stated that and his brain simply won't comply, but he hates it, the burning feeling he gets in his guts whenever he thinks of all the hands and lips and breasts and perhaps even dicks, because Dean is a hunter and he's silent when he has to be, he's nice and subtle, but not that subtle. Not for someone who knows the difference in every take of breath, the way Sam does. Not for someone who has grown to understand that the glares he's received from Dean after starting to grow up weren’t, in nature, much different from the glares his brother had set over the people he intended to flirt with.

And he does not want to think about it. The implications of this jealousy being any different from natural sibling possessivenes, mainly for such close brothers like them. Sam whishes the burn would stop and it frightens him when, instead, it changes location, moving south as Dean’s movements falter and the sounds are so loud it becomes clear that the moans aren't simply coming from the bed. But he won't surrender to the promiscuity level of his brother, can't possibly do that...

And still, this need redeems itself and refusal is quickly washed away, as Dean’s climax lands, his body starts to settle, and in the mind of a troubled youth, what once was a hassle, becomes a possible solution.

His movements are quick, jagged. God knows Sam likes to take his time, but right now, it's the impact that counts. And even if the rush makes him chafe a little, it is worth it. Yes, it's worth it, because right now, he can't hear anything besides his own faultered breath and indiscreet movements. Sam can't hear anything, because it's all gone silent. His brother, for once, is so silent he won't even breathe. Once he does, it's small, stuttered, cut in the middle by the urge to control the sound.

Sam wishes he wouldn't be so mindful, so observing, but his aerials have already been set by whatever precedents, his divining rod is alert, yes, it's shaking fiercely in his tight hold and Dean is a water fountain, washing over relentlessly. Sam is bucking into his hand and perhaps it's a whine he hears, enough to make him come like a gunshot.

The remaining silence is cut by his hitched breath. Dean feigns sleep. Sam goes off into the bathroom by the pretext of rinsing himself, because he's not filthy like his brother. And he may even admit to himself, in some better day to come, all he wanted was to escape the tension underlying the silence in that room.


	2. Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He won't commit, nor admit it, as a matter of fact.

You could ask him any time about this weird behavior, and, maybe after a bit of hesitation over the subject - delicate as it is -, Sam would say he had seen this coming. He had, in fact. Witnessing the phenomena is almost delightful in a sence of pride and forecast, but immensely bitter in the matters of affection. The second Sam had hit back to his bed the night before, he knew what he'd done. He’d forced Dean into a distance. Was his action a threat or a confession, it is now working in favor of his long wanted privacy. Now that he has it, Sam is finding it to be suffocating.

Being deprived from Dean’s constant blather forces him into listening to his own thoughts, which somehow aren't just as entertaining. Sam soon notices that the lack of what he believed was a distraction, is in itself much more distracting, for the sake of his own haunted brain. A clear case of ‘bad with, worse without’. And all that kind of logic.

Yet Dean won't look at Sam like they are strangers, no. He simply won't look at all. And as they go through the tasks of the day, Sam is shocked at how torturing it is not to hear his brother brag about his abilities. As they do the dishes and clean the guns, no word is said about how Sam can't hold any object without having it slip out of his hands.

Perhaps because he had such a stable grip on his cock the night before.

_ Stop. _

And Sam would never admit how his stomach churns when his dad tells them to go training. “It's been a while”, he says, “and Sammy needs to learn some new moves”.

Neither of them is happy with it.

They use their room, pushing Dean’s bed around to make more space. There's a slit of sun burning into the stained carpet and it smells like summer. Sam caresses it with his bare foot. The reflection is almost blinding, but, knowing his father, he'd consider it an extra challenge to the training. More like real life.

You don't masturbate for your brother to hear, in real life. At least not usually.

_ Stop! _

His brain is reeling, he glares up. It's disturbing to look at Dean upclose, when everything is so bright, when all the details are exposed, when the mind is static. The vision is piercing, Sam thinks, and he's forced to let it drive into his mind, a hook of a moment.

Dean stands shirtless across the room, sweatpants barely hanging on his hips, blue underwear peeking underneath. Lately, during the lousy noons, at the motel, you can't really differ when Dean is ready to fight or to fuck. He's constantly half naked, eating and cleaning and training, like he's got nothing better to do, like the days are a waste and mean nothing. 

And still, it's better than watching him leave with their father. It's a lot better here with Sam, where they hang around, lazy out in the parking lot, under the sun and burning slowly, the white leaving for the golden. Sam is darker, tough. He stays out a little too often.

Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a low stake try on warm ups. “Can't say I have anything new for you, Sammy”.

_ But that's just about the usual, _ Sam can't help the thought process, so, to distract himself, he pushes against Dean, defying words working out of his mouth almost too quickly. “So we’re not doing it?”

Dean wheezes. He's tired, as in mentally speaking. Which feels almost egotistical to Sam.  _ It's his fault _ , it's like a child's argument, rushed and mindless,  _ he started it.  _

“Just jump me, Sammy, c’mon. Let's see where it goes”.

He does, tries a move, they flip across the room. Sam hits the floor too quickly, but drags Dean down with him. They roll. Sam is lighter, he soon is back to his feet, but Dean is muscular, and drags him into the floor once more.

They must look like a knot of limbs from a distance, as they ball around, carpet scraping their skins red raw, a constant thrum of movement until Sam’s head hits the bed frame in a sharp thud.

“Fuck!”

Dean sits on his hunches, ready to spring into Sam, but holding tight in a concerned expression. “You alright?”

“Yeah…”

Dean lands on his brother’s hips, still cautious, but otherwise precise, and pins him with his weight, holding Sam’s hands down and under his knees.

“Hey Sammy…” Sam tries to shove Dean off, bucking up innefectively, and comes to a sudden stop once he realises exactly  _ what  _ he's bucking into. “Hey, what the hell did that mean?”

“What?” Sam tries his best not to get aroused. Dean is a firm, hot weight over him, hips pressed tight, too low for his legs, too high for his belly. It's right where he folds, where his pubescent dick is hid, still in constant expectation. He squints in order to look back at him, his brother put against the blinding light.

“I was thinking, Sammy…”

“Well, isn't that new!”

“Oh, come on! Listen, listen to me... I was thinking,” Dean lowers his head, much closer to Sam’s face and managing to cover the light. His breath comes in heavy bursts, melting with Sam’s accelerated counterpart. His eyes won't stay fixed, he seems reluctant. “... I was thinking… I mean, yesterday…”

Dean can probably feel the clench of Sam’s muscles under him.

He goes on, “Do you remember anything?”.

“Why do you ask?” His brother smells like sweat, gunpowder, and still a bit of butter from breakfast. It's usually conforting. This instant, tough, even that can't keep Sam from averting him.

“I tought…” Dean leans even nearer, nose close to touching Sam’s cheek “tought I’d heard something last night.”

“The hell do you mean, Dean?”

“I mean,” his hands are slick as they timidly tease to go under Sam’s shirt, “Was that…” his warm mouth traces against Sam’s face and is soon to whisper against his ear: “Was all that for me?”

Sam can't contain the boiling lust in his chest.  _ Oh god, oh god, please… _

Stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there's no noncon in sight! Altough it may seem slightly puzzling... I guess that's all there is to Sammy’s mind right now, actually: puzzling feelings... Hey, each to their interpretation!


End file.
